


and I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow

by madamebadger



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Caretaking, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamebadger/pseuds/madamebadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the best things about love are the quietest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolutely 100% shamelessly self-indulgent fluff and smut. What can I say, it's my new favorite pairing and it's Femslash February.

They had been riding for hours, and honestly, Cassandra thought, they should've stopped a while ago—the wise thing would have been to split this last leg of the journey back to Skyhold over two days—but they all wanted so badly to get home that they had all in silent (if perhaps ill-considered) accord pressed on, even as evening wore into night.

"Are we nearly there?" Sera demanded for what felt like the thirty-seventh time. "I don't like riding at the best of times, and I'm getting sores on parts I don't even want to think about." She hesitated, and then, in her customary way, seemed unable to let that go without explaining it. "By which I mean my—"

"We all know what you mean, Buttercup," Varric said, sounding weary himself. "But there might be someone in Par Vollen who doesn't know what you mean. You could try saying it louder."

Sera snorted. "But really, we _are_ nearly there, yeah?"

"You tell me," Cassandra said. "Your night vision is better than mine." It was the truth. She had to admit that the first time she'd looked across a campfire to see that strange reflective green fire in Sera's eyes, or Solas's, she'd been a little unnerved. Now it was simply one more useful trait, like Varric's skill with a crossbow or Bull's prodigious physical strength. 

"Huh," Sera said dismissively, but then she spurred her horse awkwardly forward, far enough away from Cassandra's torch that her night vision would kick in. A few minutes later, she dropped back. "We're just at that rock formation, you know the one, the one that looks like two dogs screwing."

It took a certain impressive (if impressively filthy-minded) imagination to see that in the formation, but Cassandra nevertheless knew the one she meant. "An hour and a half, then, perhaps," she said, "if the weather stays good."

There were a chorus of groans and sighs at that, even from the Herald—who, Cassandra knew, usually tried not to join in the complaints for the sake of morale. For her part, Cassandra gritted her teeth and tried not to think of warm beds and the company therein.

It was a little under an hour and a half later that they finally rode through the gates of Skyhold. Even then there were things that needed to be done—horses to be cared for, a report (however brief and sketchy) to be made, artefacts and information they had gathered to be separated from less-important goods and set aside for proper cataloguing, and by the time Cassandra finally made it back to her quarters, she was so weary that the backs of her teeth ached. 

_I would swear that when I was twenty I could ride all day, fight a dozen men, then fall into bed and sleep three hours and be up fresh as anything,_ she thought, ruefully. _I'm getting old._

Though Josepine was there during the debriefing in the War Room, she had nonetheless beaten Cassandra back to the room. She was wearing a dressing gown of red, embroidered with the golden waves of Antiva, and had her hair down; she was incredibly lovely in the lamplight, and Cassandra was halfway afraid to embrace her lest she actually fall on her in her exhaustion. Not to mention that Cassandra was still grimy, her skin tight with the sweat of a day's long riding, and smelled of horse and worse.

Josephine hugged her anyway, then took her hand and drew her into her dressing-room. Cassandar was too tired to even ask why, but stopped dead in the doorway. There, in the center of the room, was a dwarf-made tin washtub, full of water so hot it steamed, with rose petals on the surface.

"I arrange to have it drawn when I saw you coming up the road," Josephine said. 

"You," Cassandra said fervently, "are a miracle."

Josephine laughed and helped her with her buckles. She was wearing light armor for riding, and so there was not much that needs special care. Her padded tunic and trousers and undershirt and breastbands she let fall where they lay, which was unusual for her—long training and years of barracks life taught her a certain compulsory neatness—but the lure of the bath was too strong.

Josephine kissed her on the temple. "I have some reports to catch up on," she said. "I shall leave you to it."

The hot water was the best thing Cassandra had felt in at least a week. Maybe a month. She ducked her head to wash the sweat and travel grit out of her hair and then simply settled back to let herself soak, head resting on the rim of the bath, eyes closed. The hot water pulled tension from every muscle and limb; the sweet scent of the rose petals made the less-pleasant smells of the road seem like a distant memory. ("I bet you bathe in ice water and like it," Sera had said once. While she had many times bathed, if not exactly in ice water, then in icy streams while on the road, or washed herself with nothing but a bowl of lukewarm water and a few cloths on a chilly morning, when the option was there and she had the time to indulge, hot sweet-scented baths were one of her preferred small luxuries. Not that she often said so; there was something to be said for having the reputaton of being the woman who bathed in ice water and ate saddle leather for breakfast. But Josephine knew. Of course Josephine knew. And of course Josephine—wonderful, blessed Josephine—remembered at exactly the perfect moment.)

She drifted, enjoying the sensation of being not only fully clean but fully warm for the first time in nearly two weeks—and the sensation, equally if not more precious, of being able to let down her guard fully, to relax and breathe. She had no idea how long she'd been soaking when Josephine's voice startled her back to awareness: "Cassandra?"

Cassandra was sure that the noise she made in response was completely incoherent. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes?"

"Just making sure you hadn't fallen asleep and drowned," Josephine said. 

"Oh. No. But I suppose I ought to get out before I do." Her limbs felt even more leaden than before as she pulled herself upright, but in a much more pleasant way. She fumbled for a towel and gave herself a cursory towelling-off and started for the bed, which coverlet was temptingly drawn back. 

Josephine laughed. "You forgot to dry your hair. You are not going to go drip all over the pillows." She threw a towel over Cassandra's head. Cassandra glowered at her from under the edge of it, as much to make Josephine laugh again as for any other reason, and dried her hair.

The bed was a wonder after weeks on a bedroll on the ground. Josephine slid in next to her. "It won't bother you if I finish this report, will it?" she asked. "I don't want to keep you up. I can put out the candle and finish it tomorrow if you would prefer."

"Right now you could bring in a six-piece orchestra and I believe I could sleep through it."

"Hm. Fortunately, we won't have to test that." 

Cassandra let her head drift to one side, settling on Josephine's shoulder, before she realized that she was probably still quite damp. But before she could move, Josephine had snaked an arm around her shoulder, dragging her fingertips gently through Cassandra's hair. Josephine smelled as good as the bath, but not of roses; Cassandra was still trying to figure out what flower she did smell of when she fell asleep.

* * *

The party went on too long and then even longer, and Josephine had a wretched headache. The problem was that the headache had begun even before the party and had steadily worsened; even worse, one of the guests of honor had had wine delivered—a particular specialty of his lands—that unfortunately was of a varietal that reliably gave Josephine headaches, but diplomacy required that she drink _that_ wine and not substitute another. And the toasting had gone on so long that even with her smallest sips, she had been required to drink one and a half glasses. Add to that the mental pressures of playing the Game with people whose behavior she had not yet had time to quietly observe, and by the time it was over, her head was pounding.

She had half-expected Cassandra to already be asleep when she came in, and was prepared to sneak in quietly. Cassandra rose very early to begin her morning practice before other duties required her, and so tended to turn in early. (The fact that this got her out of the worst of the social engagements was not entirely coincidence, Josephine knew, but there was rarely any reason to force Cassandra to join her when Cassandra both hated rubbing elbows and was famously bad at it. _Breaking_ elbows was more her forte.)

But when she eased open the door, the candle was still lit and the fire not yet banked, and Cassandra was still up—albeit in her soft linen sleep clothes—sitting sideways in the chair, reading a book. At the party, she had heard someone murmuring about the other members of the Inquisition, and what they'd said about Cassandra was 'a formidible woman on the battlefield, but if she smiled, her face would crack.' The warmth of the smile Cassandra gave Josephine as she closed her book gave absolute lie to the second half of that statement—not that anyone else was ever likely to know it. "Long night?" Cassandra asked, setting the book down and swinging herself around to stand.

"The longest." Josephine pushed the door closed and followed it back until she was leaning against it, as if to hold it closed against anyone else who might want to talk to he tonight. "I have a headache you would not believe."

"I can help with that," Cassandra said. "Take off your dress."

Even with the pounding in her head, Josephine couldn't help laughig. "Feeling forward tonight, aren't we?"

And sure enough, Cassandra colored immediately, that familiar slash of a blush along her cheekbones that her coloring couldn't hide. "I didn't mean like that," she said. "I was going to rub your shoulders for you. It's easier the less cloth is in the way."

"That sounds lovely," Josephine said, beginning on the laces of her bodice. Cassandra helped her with the tiny buttons down her back—Cassandra had zero patience with tiny buttons for herself, but a surprising amount if she was helping Josephine take her clothes off, to Josephine's amused pleasure. The dress had to be carefully hung up lest the expensive velvet be crushed (and every one of Josephine's expensive Doing Important Diplomatic Work dresses came out of the Inquisition's budget, so they had to be cared for to last as long as possible).

Her undergarments, though, she discarded with a lack of care that was unusual for her, so desperate was she to alleviate the headache. Her hair came down and she set aside the clips on a side table without sorting them and putting them away as she normally would have. Cassandra pushed a cup of water into her hands, which she drank gratefully, and then coaxed her to stretch out on the bed, tucking a fold of blanked thoughtfully over her feet to keep them warm. Josephine settled her head on her arms and closed her eyes. The release of the pressure from her corset, and the quiet of the room, and her hair no longer drawn firmly back, and the water, were already combining to ease her headache.

Behind her, she heard the pop of a cork and then smelled something herbal and pleasantly spicy. "Vivienne gave me this oil to use on sore muscles," Cassandra said. "I'm not sure if it's magical or herbal or just smells good."

"You have much more reason to have sore muscles than I do," Josephine said. "Are you sure—"

"Vivienne gave it to me to use how I choose," Cassandra said, "and this is how I choose." Her voice brooked no argument, and Josephine didn't really want to argue anyway. She heard a clink as Cassandra set the bottle aside. Cassandra carefully brushed her hair away to one side, and then her fingers—warm and slick with oil—settled into the mucles of Josephine's shoulders.

Cassandra's fingers were _strong_ , very strong and callused, and as they dug in, at first Josephine's muscles protested even more and she inhaled sharply. But almost as soon as she had released the breath, the tension released, sending shivers cascading like rain down her back. Cassandra's thumbs slid under her shoulderblades, her fingers working in deliberate circles, and as they did, each time, the muscles she was working seemed to reach a crescendo of tension and then give way, and each time the tingles shivered all the way down her back. Josephine had to bite her lip to keep from moaning out loud.

She let Cassandra work in silence for a while, focusing her attention on not making obscene noises, but after a few minutes she couldn't help saying, " _Maker_ , Cassandra, that's amazing. Where on earth did you learn this?"

"Seeker training is very hard, especially at first. As trainees we used to give each other shoulder rubs to ease the pain so that we could sleep, when we were so stiff and aching that sleep would have been otherwise impossible."

Josephine couldn't stop herself smiling into the pillow. "Oh, _did_ you?"

She can just imagine Cassandra's eyes rolling. "It was nothing lascivious. We kept our shirts on, there was no oil. It was entirely platonic."

Josephine shivered as Cassandra's hands moved lower, as another protesting knot of muscle softened. "Well, however you learned it, I am most grateful."

Cassanda made an agreeable noise, and lapsed into silence again.

Josephine had no idea how long it went on, just that as her headache ebbed and her back un-knotted she seemed to be getting heavier and heavier. Her headache was almost entirely gone, replaced with a buzzing warmth far more intoxicating than wine. She wasn't sure if she could move if she tried. Cassandra had worked her way down to her waist, then back up again to her shoulders, had coaxed one arm out from under her head and massaged it carefully all the way down to the fingers, and was currently, with great care, working on the other. She hadn't even known you _could_ have tight muscles in your forearms, but Cassandra's long, dextrous fingers had found pockets of tension and soothed them away.

"Cassandra?" Josephine said, only relaxed and on the edge of sleep as she was it came out more as "C'ss'dra?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm afraid... I'm about to fall asleep on you."

"Good," Cassandra said. She leaned over and pressed a careful kiss to the nape of Josephine's neck. "That was the idea."

"Oh," Josephine said, thickly. "Good."

She was only dimly aware of Cassandra finishing the massage and drawing the blanket up over her, and she must've dozed off because the next thing she was aware of, the fire had been banked, the candle snuffed, and Cassandra was slipping into bed next to her. She wanted to say something, probably 'thank you,' but Cassandra leaned over to kiss her temple and that stole away her breath, and then sleep, finally, stole the rest of her consciousness.

* * *

The Inquisitorial ball went as Cassandra would have expected: Josephine made the rounds, light and lovely and charming, sweetening everyone to her cause, and Cassandra stood off to the side, sipping wine and feeling awkward in the extreme. She knew perfectly well that all that was required of her was to make an appearance in full armor, so that everyone could say that they had seen the Seeker, the Right Hand—her presence was not notable particularly but her absence _would_ be. But she wished it wasn't necessary.

She wished, too, rather guiltily, that Josephine wasn't in quite so high demand. Others who attended with their loved ones could at least stay together—there were Lord and Lady Avegnionne, for example, arm in arm—but she knew that following Josephine like a gloomy raincloud would both raise awkward questions _and_ inhibit Josephine's abilities. So she hovered, sipped wine, answered the occasional question as tersely as she politely could, and fended off (Maker help her) offers to dance.

Cassandra was just attempting to determine exactly how long she had to stay to be polite and appropriate when Leliana slipped up to her, silent as a shadow. "Playing the taciturn knight-errant tonight, I see?" she said, a hum of amusement in her voice.

Cassandra winced. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, yes," Leliana said, "but not at all inappropriate. One might even say that it speaks well of your devotion to the cause that you look so cranky. After all, it would not be quite right for a Seeker to be seen enjoying such frivolities too much."

Cassandra frowned. "You are laughing at me."

"A little." Leliana smiled, shadowy but with genuine affection. "Besides, that is a better excuse than that you simply hate to dance."

"I don't hate to dance. I simply do not enjoy these—"

"—frivolities?"

"Now you truly _are_ laughing at me."

"Mm." Leliana laid a hand on her arm. "Go to bed. You have made your appearance, there is no need to torture yourself so."

Cassandra exhaled, rolled her eyes. Then she said, "Do you think I can? It is not too early?"

"No. Go on. You have been seen; that is all that is truly required of you."

Cassandra made a point of finishing her glass of wine and nonchalantly leaving the great hall, lest anyone be watching her. But once she was out of sight, she took the stairs two at a time, lighter with each step that took her away from the ball.

It was some hours later, when Cassandra was deep into her book, that Josephine returned to their room. (Cassandra was not quite sure when she had started thinking of it as their room, rather than as Josephine's room. It had been Josephine's quarters to begin with, and it was larger and finer than Cassandra's because Josephine had more refined requirements for reasons of appearances. Technically Cassandra still had a room of her own, but these days she used it primarily to store her armor and for changing when she had come back from the road smelling strongly of sweat and faintly of bear viscera.) 

"You're back early," Cassandra said, in pleased surprise. She had not been expecting Josephine to return before she had gone to bed. Often the balls went late into the night.

"Things are well in hand," Josephine said. "Dorian is dancing with everyone and Varric is telling stories."

"Maker's breath," Cassandra said, and Josephine laughed.

"It is exactly what people expect of the Inquisition," she said, crossing to open the windows to the courtyard, letting in the soft summer-night air and the sound of the string ensemble, "and there is some value in allowing them to believe that we are just a little roguishly dashing. Besides... I wanted to come back before the last dance."

It was perhaps a testament to Cassandra's weariness that she didn't immediately understand. "Why?"

Josephine took the book gently from her, marked her place, set it aside, and then caught her hands and pulled her to her feet. "You looked lovely tonight."

"No, I didn't," Cassandra said, instinctively, even though she suddenly understood as Josephine pulled her closer.

"You did. And after a long night of dancing with boors and bores and people who stepped on my feet... indulge me."

The truth was that Cassandra rather enjoyed dancing. She had learned it as a child; in its grace and athleticism it was far better than most of the things she had learned as a proper Nevarran young lady. And true, as an adolescent she had turned her skill mostly to figuring out discreet ways to avoid a suitor's wandering hands or step on his feet, but the act itself she rather liked. Especially like this, a slow Antivan dance playing its soft strains through the open window, Josephine warm in her arms, and neither of them quite leading or quite following. Soft, soft, the scent of Josephine's flower-water perfume elusive on the air and their steps moving in a silent rhythm guided by their hands.

"I'm sorry I'm not a better companion for these things," she said, after a moment, feeling loose-limbed and warm with the private sweetness of it.

"Not at all," Josephine said. "You are unbelievably dashing; I would have you no other way." Cassandra snorted. Josephine laughed: "You are! In Inquisition livery, black and gold and solemn and beautiful as a prayer; you could not have been more perfect. My Seeker."

"I find that rather hard to believe, given that my whole life people have been trying unsuccessfully to get me into a dress. And to smile."

"They never knew what they had, then," Josephine said, and Cassandra could feel herself flush, hot across her cheeks. "Besides, you smile often enough for me."

"You give me reason," Cassandra said, as the music ended, and kissed her, her full soft lips and the heat of her tongue.

It was the work of several minutes to free Josephine of her dress, fingers fumbling on intricate laces because Cassandra was unwilling to stop kissing her to get them loose; Cassandra's own clothes came off more easily. And as they tumbled back onto the bed Josephine laughed, brilliant as bells, more musical than the string ensemble. Cassandra got her half-corset off with shaking hands, cupping her full breasts loosed from their confinement. She slid her hands down over her soft belly to tug off her smallclothes, sank to her knees at the foot of the bed to loosen her garters and slip off her silk stockings.

"I—" Josephine said, and then, "Oh—" as Cassandra pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee. She loved all of Josephine, her body full as a rose at the peak of bloom, but she had an especial fondness for her thighs: silk-skinned and soft, especially at the high inner curve as she pressed her lips, kiss after kiss and the edge of teeth, the soft musk of her arousal and each soft gasping breath.

After some time—Cassandra didn't know how long, lost in the velvety tenderness of Josephine's skin, the perfume of her arousal—Josephine pushed herself up on her elbows, looking down at her, hair loosed and eyes dark. "Stop teasing," she said, breathlessly.

"I'm not trying to tease," Cassandra said, kissing the join between Josephine's leg and her body.

"Well then you're very talented, because you're succeeding without trying," Josephine said breathlessly, and Cassandra laughed against her, felt her shudder.

"All right," she said, pressing a kiss to the curve of her belly just above her soft curls and then lower, lower, to spread her and part her with her tongue.

Josephine made a noise, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, tipping her head back and Cassandra looked up at her—past the curves of her breasts to her head tipped back, her lips parted, her hair half-tousled free of its pins and falling over her shoulders. Cassandra's tongue slipped over her, tasting her musky and sweet, sliding down over the swollen locus of her until Josephine cried out high and sharp. And then lower, teasing her folds as Josephine gasped, slid fingers through her hair, spread her thighs wider. 

(She loved this, loved this more than she ever would have guessed before Josephine, loved the taste of her, the way she shuddered, the way she cried out—the way she opened herself further to the touch, let Cassandra in, gave her more, gave her everything.)

She moved back up to press her lips against Josephine's apex, working her with her tongue, firm and resolute: no teasing now. Josephine threw her head back with an audible thump against the coverlet, muffled a scream between bitten lips. Cassandra pressed her mouth against her slick heat, coaxing her through the aftershocks and then resting her cheek against Josephine's silky thigh. She felt Josephine's fingers comb tenderly through her hair, and then—feeling impulsive, greedy, generous—said, "Again?"

"Oh yes," Josephine said, shuddery and breathless, "please."

She began again slowly—Josephine was often more sensitive after the first time—kissing her lower belly, the soft curls of her mons, her thighs and then again her wet folds. This time she brought her hand up, sliding it along her thigh, stroking her entrance lightly until Josephine arched her hips and breathed, "Yes." She slipped one finger inside her, felt that first rippling shudder hot and silky around her—and then another, curving, moving. Josephine made more noise this time, whimpers that turned to moans, lifting herself up off the bed against Cassandra's mouth, her hands. The sounds she made were unbearably sweet and Cassandra couldn't hold back her own shaky groan against Josephine, her own body throbbing and heavy and wet with need as she brought Jospehine to another climax.

She let herself rest there, kneeling between Josephine's thighs, aching as Josephine panted to the ceiling. And then Josephine pulled her up, onto the bed, and kissed her. Cassandra closed her eyes, shivered at the touch of her tongue, the press of her arms, breast to breast as Josephine hummed into her mouth. She was so close, already, so slick and so sensitive just from this that when Josephine broke the kiss to murmur, "What do you want?" she just caught her wrist and pulled it down.

She was so wet that at first Josephine's fingers just skated over her and she had to brace the heel of her hand against Cassandra's lower belly to get any friction. But they didn't stop kissing, didn't stop kissing as Josephine curled her free hand against the back of Cassandra's neck, didn't stop kissing as Cassandra bent her leg to rest her knee on the swell of Josephine's hip, opened herself up. And with her mouth on Josephine's, Josephine's soft lips against hers and her tongue hot and clever against her own, Cassandra felt free to make noises knowing they would be drunk down, swallowed up. 

Josephine's fingers pressed into her, two at once and curling just right. The heel of her hand pressed high against her, and everything swelled and gathered together—hot and hard and clenching tight and she squeezed her eyes shut and came with a shaky groan into Josephine's mouth. 

Afterwards she pressed her forehead to Josephine's shoulder, felt Josephine's fingers massaging her softly through her aftershocks. She couldn't quite get her breath back and it didn't matter because she was safe here, now, for as long as she needed.

"There," Josephine said, "what did I say? Lovely."

Cassandra laughed, heard her own voice low and husky. "Just for you," she said, wrapping her arms around her, the dip of her waist, the warmth, the softness of her. An impossible piece of grace here at the edge of the world. "You are... sweeter than I deserve."

"I am not sweet for everyone, you know," Josephine said: "just for you." Cassandra slid her fingers through her hair, finding the pins still there and freeing them, gently shaking out the long silky curls of Josephine's hair. "And besides," Josephine continued. "You are more magnificent than I deserve." She leaned forward, kissed Cassandra's forehead, a benediction and a silent promise. "So we're even."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from William Butler Yeats' [The Lake Isle of Innisfree](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172053).


End file.
